


Tending Toward Destructive

by seperis



Series: On Love and Lust at Mutant High [13]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-03-02
Updated: 2001-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Rogue's actions, St. John finds out it's hard to stop caring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thing One

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted as five separate fics around a theme. I'm posting them here as five parts of a single story, since they more or less are.

Bobby was avoiding him. Fuck. Remy, you better move a hell of a lot faster than that if you wanna get by me.

"Elbow in, Marie!"

Jubilee was avoiding him, but he avoided her too, so that worked out pretty well. So what if she thought he was a self-righteous bastard. If she even knew what had happened, which he doubted.

"Marie, what the fuck are you tryin' to do?"

Rogue was avoiding him and he hoped to God that kept up for awhile. Like the rest of their lives.

There were five things he noticed, and this was only the first. He didn't want to say he cared, but he did. He didn't want to forgive her, not ever, but seeing things would lead to that. He knew that much.

But that was the first, and he noticed it and started noticing, as he hadn't for the long five days since he'd sent her from his room.

And five days alone was a damned long time--a lot longer than St. John had expected.

It was instant and frightening, and maybe if it hadn't been, St. John wouldn't have paid any attention to any of them. Partnered up with a hostile Remy, he was totally focused today. No way in hell anyone was gonna break his concentration. But that did, for some reason--maybe it was Logan's tone when he said it, edged--though shit, Logan had been so on edge the last few days that St. John couldn't actually remember him doing anything but snapping orders and prowling the Mansion with restless energy that didn't seem to require anything by the way of sleep. Maybe it was the sudden quiet from Jubes, or maybe it was just some weird sort of prescience when he would have sworn he had none. But he and Remy stopped as one to check what the hell was up on the other side of the gym, and it was just in time to watch Rogue do some serious living up to her name.

Her head came up sharply, and he couldn't read a damn thing on her face--not precisely unusual in training. Spinning backward, bringing her leg up and kicking the practice bag with enough pressure to knock it backward--that was new. Rogue didn't have too much strength--all her ability lay in the sheer speed she worked at. So that was something of a shock, then the sudden fast jerk of her body and she came around, too fast, faster than he'd ever suspected she was capable of, and her foot was an inch from Logan's jaw, where he caught it mid-air.

That wasn't in the training run.

"Fuck me," whispered Jubilee. And how a whisper could echo in a room where _*everyone*_ had gone completely still.

His reflexes kicked ass, no question--St. John was almost certain he never would have caught that himself. Watched Logan flip her and she twisted, landing in a picture perfect defensive crouch, staring up from behind unreadable eyes, a low sound that could have been a growl--but Rogue really didn't sound like that. And for the briefest second, St. John thought she would attack--

\--and apparently, Logan did too.

"Stand down, Marie." A pause, and every muscle in her body tensed, almost deliberately, before she let out a breath, raising her head. "You wanna explain that?"

"Just keepin' ya on your toes, Wolvie." A pause, and she straightened, slowly, and even St. John could see the muscles in her back were tense and hard. "We done yet? Got a class with Scooter to sleep through, if ya don't mind. I want a shower." She reached for a towel, wiping her face before tossing it behind her with a lack of interest in where it fell (almost hit Jubilee in the face), taking off for the showers without a word. Logan watched her briefly, eyes narrowed, then nodded to the rest of them.

"Take off." Turning away while they quickly put their toys away--St. John wished he could snigger at that thought--and the rest did their level best to get out of sight. St. John grabbed his bag, turning toward the door.

His social skills right now were somewhere in the region of nonexistent, and he liked it that way.

In his room, he checked the clock, noticing Logan had let them out thirty minutes early--half an hour before lunch. Which gave him thirty minutes to find a way to avoid Bobby, avoid Jubes (though she was avoiding him nicely, so no problems there), and since Rogue was completely avoiding everyone--

\--fuck, he had some major time on his hands. Seriously. And showers just didn't take that long.

A knock on his door was almost welcome, and St. John turned, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in the hamper.

"Come in."

Not many people would actually wait for permission.

"Mr. Summers."

St. John supposed five days of tension would be noticed by the older man, and the visored eyes skimmed the room briefly before coming to rest on him.

"You okay, Johnny?" A pause--Mr. Summers was all about sensitivity and New Age male talky stuff, and it occurred to St. John that if there had been anyone he _*could*_ have asked about talking to Bobby, it'd be him. Of course, there was that slight but disturbing possibility that Mr. Summers wouldn't be too supportive of the whole idea of the younger X-Men getting into serious relationships, or an even slighter chance that Mr. Summers had sexuality issues.

Hmmm. Maybe not such a good idea.

"Fine, sir." Just fine. We're all good. Your least favorite group of troublemaking mutants aren't speaking to each other, and Rogue is keeping all that physical contact you and Dr. Grey are so afraid of down to a minimum. You just be happy, sir.

Mr. Summers frowned briefly (what, could he read his thoughts now?), then glanced at the desk chair.

"You mind if I sit down?"

Did he have a choice? With a shrug he hoped was casual, St. John motioned to the chair, wondering if he should maybe put some more clothes on--well, no. If Mr. Summers wanted to see him fully dressed, he shouldn't catch St. John right before a shower.

"I've noticed some--tension--between you and some of the others." A pause, waiting for St. John to possibly break out in confessions of something or other that the older man could start evaluating. Maybe fix. Who knew?

"Just normal teen stuff, sir." Teens fought all the time. It happened. Be cool with it, sir, go do something about that girlfriend of yours who hits on Logan, would ya?

"If it was normal teen stuff, Johnny, I wouldn't be worried."

It really hadn't occurred to St. John that Mr. Summers would actually notice, so worried was a whole new plane of shock. Unwillingly, he sat down on the bed, quite aware that Mr. Summers might annoy him, but had a deep and remarkably strong tenacious streak that probably would keep him here until he was satisfied.

Shit.

"Sir, it's not important."

"It's important enough for the Professor to have given special permission to Rogue to be in the gym after lights out." A pause--oooh, Mr. Summers didn't like that at all, that break in rules. No surprise. Leaning back on one arm, St. John waited. "I'm worried about her and I'm worried about the rest of you. Since the night Rogue and Bobby went off on their little excursion, the six of you have been acting more and more distant." Another pause, this time deliberate. "I've rarely approved of your actions together, Johnny, but I don't deny that it is healthy. What's happening right now is not."

"Why do you care?"

  
It was out of his mouth before he could even think to edit it--but images of Rogue in the gym after lights-out bothered him. She still got up at six with the rest of them for kitchen duty and she still went to classes. High energy or no, she slept badly anyway--she couldn't afford to lose any more than she already did.

Who gives a fuck. Let Rogue self-destruct at her own pace.

Mr. Summers, surprisingly, didn't react as St. John expected--a slight smile turned his mouth as he leaned back, the visored eyes making it impossible to read his expression.

"I suppose I could say that as future team members, antipathy isn't a good idea, but the example of Logan and I is probably one that breaks that theory." The slightest increase of the smile and St. John wondered what that meant. "I could say I don't like to see any of you unhappy, but that's normal and I don't like to interfere when nature can take its course and usually resolves things better than adult interference." Another pause, longer, as Mr. Summers considered what he would say. "The truth is, I should leave this up to time to fix up, but I suspect that time wouldn't do it--whatever happened between the six of you isn't healing, and if it was going to on its own, it would have started already. Instead, you and Rogue are avoiding everyone outside classes and Bobby is ducking into my office to have long and remarkably odd conversations about the concept of love and what it means. Without once managing to put it in a personal context, and for Bobby, that's just a cry for help. He personalizes everything."

St. John felt his jaw tighten.

"Maybe you should talk to Rogue about that."

Mr. Summers shook his head slowly.

"Rogue wouldn't talk to me if I was the last person left in the Mansion--and I don't blame her." St. John jerked a little at the honesty--he hadn't expected Mr. Summer to realize that. "I guess its about time I stopped treating this like kids being kids. You're not kids anymore, Johnny--you're two months from being permitted accompanied non-combat missions. You're going off to college to decide what you want to do with your lives should you decide to rejoin mainstream society."

Oh, that would be funny. One good loss of temper and his suburban life would go up in a neighborhood flame. St. John shook his head.

"I'll never have a normal life, sir. You know that. This is all I got, you know?"

"And with that in mind, you're willing to throw it away?" Mr. Summers leaned forward. "Whatever happened between the six of you, it's affecting more than you. It trickles straight up to the rest of the team. Professor Xavier can't get anything out of Rogue and the other three that _*aren't*_ you or Bobby or Rogue don't have a clue what's going on, except none of you want to talk about it. Frankly, when Jubilee came by my office today, I got worried."

Jubilee had gone to Mr. Summers. That was enough to make St. John sit up, knowing Jubes' feelings on Mr. Summers and some of his interference policies.

"What--what did she say?"

"That's in confidence, Johnny. You know that. But I think--I think you need to have a talk with her. Just think about it--maybe all six of you should sit down and decide how you're going to handle this."

St. John stood up, knowing he wasn't hiding his discomfort as well as he should.

"Thanks sir. I'll think about it." As dismissively as he could, turning his back deliberately on Mr. Summers and going toward his dresser. "I have to take a shower. If you don't mind, sir--"

"I understand, Johnny." The tone was different, slightly amused, as if he knew (and how _*could*_ he know?) that St. John had been affected. "I'll see you later. If you feel like talking--"

"I know where your office is, sir."

"By now, I suppose you have the way memorized." Irony? But St. John kept his back turned, and Mr. Summers' footsteps disappeared out the door--and did no one in this damn place believe in slamming doors? Shit.

With a sigh, St. John went to the bathroom.

This wasn't his problem. Rogue et al wasn't his problem. Period.


	2. Thing Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> St. John finds out it's Confrontation in the Library Day.

Study, study, study. Studying was good. Studying required privacy. Studying in the library nicely avoided confrontation, because who the hell would bother him--

"Um, Johnny?"

\--oh fuck. Bobby would. Of course.

St. John actually jerked in his chair at the sound of Bobby's voice, remarkably close and how the hell did the guy who tripped over his own feet (outside a fight) manage to get so close so quietly? A sharp turn of his head revealed the younger boy as he sat down across the table, and suddenly the library didn't seem quite as friendly as it had. Which was just ridiculous--Bobby was his best friend. So he'd been avoiding him for--shit, six days?--five years of friendship could certainly stand up to six days--fuck, six entire days--of slightly cool relations.

"Hey." Make it look friendly and normal. No, I haven't been avoiding you, Bobby. Shit just happens all the time. 'Course I'm not hiding in the library. Nope. I'm seriously interested in the birth of the Renaissance. "What's up?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you." A pause, and Bobby leaned an elbow on the table uncertainly--the blue eyes were cool, which was different. "You're avoiding me. Shit, you're avoiding everyone, but since they seem to be avoiding me too, it could be just a group thing. You wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on?"

"Nothing." Yeah, like that would fly. St. John carefully closed his book, wishing some weird emergency would occur--fire drills, hehehe, maybe not. Magneto appearing. Rogue going into a nice psychotic episode.

And why the hell was he thinking of her again? Fuck a duck, damn it, she wasn't important. Get her right off your mind, Johnny-boy.

"You don't lie very well, Johnny." Bobby looked hurt, eyes narrowing just a little. "This is about Rogue, isn't it?"

Rogue again.

The world revolved around Rogue, didn't it? If she was okay, if she wasn't, what she wanted, what she didn't. Fuck, St. John knew that life had existed before Rogue, but God knew if he could figure out when it had changed. Staring down at his book, he tried to think of a response. Glanced up as Bobby shifted uncomfortably.

For some reason, he found himself studying Bobby, looking for some visible sign of requited love. Not sure what that would be, but shit, he'd think Bobby would be dancing on the ceiling. Unless he figured out what Rogue's little game was, but Bobby wasn't showing incipient signs of a broken heart or wounded pride either.

It was suddenly and completely disconcerting, looking at Bobby, as St. John realized he couldn't read his best friend at all.

"It is, isn't it?" A pause, and Bobby shifted uncomfortably. "Johnny, I don't--I don't understand. You and Rogue--"

"It's not about Rogue. I'm just tired, Bobby. That's all."

"Did you fight?"

"Yes." Fuck. "Sort of. No. It was just--it's nothing. I'm just--I don't wanna talk about it, kay? Fuck, can't you just leave it alone?"

Whoa, where the hell had that come from?

St. John stole a glance up and saw Bobby was staring down at the table. Long fingers clenched on the edge and frost was forming underneath.

"You know, this is fucking ridiculous, Johnny. Just stupid. What the hell is up with your head? Gimme something here."

A pause, and St. John shut his eyes briefly.

"What did you do with her, Bobby? When you left the room?" Shit. He wasn't gonna ask--yeah, right, you weren't, huh? You want details, Johnny? Wanna know how she felt and how she tasted? Wanna know how Bobby made her sound? Wanna know if she could make Bobby moan and twist and you wanna know if she liked how cold his skin got?

God, you're a sick bastard. Masochism in extreme.

Bobby's eyes widened.

"_*That's*_ what this is about? Me and Rogue? Johnny, I thought--"

Yeah. You thought I'd be thrilled--of course you did. You know, Bobby, what would it do to you to know you were third choice overall, huh? That you were second choice for a proxy? Shit--

"Never mind. Do whatever the hell you want." Opening his book and staring down at it as if he was really damned interested in--what the hell was he reading, anyway? The History of the Automobile. Oh yeah, that'll work. He wasn't Rogue--he wouldn't hurt anyone like that. Ever.

"Fine. See ya." Bobby stood up, leaving the frozen imprints of his fingers on the surface of the wood, and for a second, St. John was tempted to stop him, sit him down, ask him what had happened that night and wait for the answers--though God knew, he could figure it out quick enough. Bobby had finally arrived at six thirty in their room, looking a little dazed and definitely like he hadn't even approached the realm of sleep. Slightly absent all day, but more telling, he'd avoided St. John--which of course, St. John was also doing so brilliantly that he seemed to be stumbling over everyone and their dog he was trying to avoid.

Six days was a lot of time, and it was only becoming apparent to St. John now that he really couldn't do it anymore and make it look natural, not if Bobby was now actively searching him out, not if Mr. Summers', of all people, was jumping in on the act.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck is goin' on with you?"

St. John stiffened at the sound of Logan's voice so close.

"I don't answer to you," Rogue answered, and shit, they were too close, and did they know anyone was over here? The alcove, true, was recessed slightly in the wall, but the shelves wouldn't hide--and hadn't they seen Bobby leave just now, heard their voices?

He didn't give a good fuck what Rogue was up to. Which of course was why he got up, carefully circling the table until he got to the edge of the alcove, ducking out enough to see their position--ah, they'd come through the far door probably. Hmm. Library was Confrontation Place today. Shit, he shoulda known.

Rogue looked like hell. Too pale, and shit, had she started losing weight again? And wearing make-up, which was odd, because she just didn't during class days anymore. Back in layers of clothing, gloved hands picking at her sleeves, obviously wanting to be anywhere but here. Join the club babe, I don't want you here either.

"As of right this fucking second, you do."

  
"Watch your language. We're in a school, for God's sake." There was something vaguely amusing about Rogue lecturing anyone on language use. "You know how Scooter acts when he hears profanity. And I'm not havin' this conversation. I'm fine, everything's fine--"

"When's the last time you slept more than two hours at a stretch?" One gloved touched her cheek and she flinched.

St. John tried to remember what Mr. Summers had told him about Rogue's use of the gym at night. He knew she had her ways of working off her bad nights before Logan came home--though they had rarely worked very well. Even exhaustion couldn't stop her dreams.

"It's nothing."

Under any other circumstances, there was no way he would have gotten to listen to this much undetected. Logan would have smelled him out, Rogue would have turned to see him, shit, something would have happened. There was something to be said for completely pissed off and exhausted mutants.

"It's not nothing, Marie--"

"I'm fine. Just some bad nights. No biggie--I had them all the time before you decided you wanted to come back and fuck Jeanie after all, ya know? So don't worry--go find somethin' to do. Leave me the fuck alone."

A pause. And for some reason, St. John expected something else--a Loganesque rage of some sort, but all he saw was a sort of cool interest, layered with a range of different emotions he couldn't even begin to identify.

"You are mad about that." Not a question.

"Just facin' reality, like my teachers taught me, sugar." Rogue couldn't manage casual this time to save her life, and it was fascinating to see her that unnerved--Rogue didn't get unnerved.

"I'm not sleeping with Jeanie."

"That's just because she hasn't spread her legs yet." A low growl and Rogue's eyes narrowed. "What, you think I don't know this crap? I don't have to have your memories, sugar--it's plain as day for anyone with eyes."

"It was an accident and I'm not gonna explain myself to you."

  
Which he was actually doing anyway. Sort of funny in a weird way.

"You don't need to and I don't wanna hear it. Just leave me alone, 'kay? Go get yourself off dreamin' of fucking Jeanie--or just do it, she'd probably throw herself at you if you showed some interest. Get her outta your system. Just leave me the hell alone." Rogue spun--unbalanced too, and St. John blinked when her hand went out to grab the bookshelf to rebalance herself, moving quickly toward the far door and out. For a second, St. John thought Logan would follow her--

\--but he didn't.

"You have an interestin' habit of picking up other people's conversations, Johnny. You got a reason for it?"

Oh fuck, he should have known. Per standard operating procedure, his feet didn't work and the air in his lungs actually seemed to freeze--was Bobby still around?--and Logan turned around slowly, leaning casually against the bookshelf. Regarding him with an unreadable expression that always put Johnny in mind of the snake in the lab, before it went after the mouse left in its cage for dinner.

"I'm guessing you--uh--wouldn't think it was an accident." Swear to God, its all a huge mistake. Huge. Massive. How the fuck does this happen to me?

"Every time?" An eyebrow went up--good part, Logan just looked amused. Bad part, Logan was at his happiest when kicking someone's ass.

Hmm.

"Every damn time--er, sir." Believe me. Seriously. Believe me.

"Yeah." A pause, and Logan took a step toward him. All on their own, his feet came to life and started a full-scale retreat, until he bumped into the back wall of the alcove, inches from the window. Good part--Logan looked even more amused. Bad part--see above. Logan liked to fight.

Window, window, window--he could jump out the window--hmmm, sixty foot drop or Logan, and was there really a choice?

Sixty feet, every time.

Logan's gaze on him was more thoughtful, however, than aggressive, and St. John took a breath, letting it out slowly. This was the library. People didn't get into physical fights in libraries. Never heard of it happening. Of course, confrontations didn't happen in libraries either, so who the hell knew the score anyway?

"We're gonna have to talk one day, kid," Logan said finally. Then smiled again, slightly wolfish, really fucking amused, before he turned on his heel and left. St. John took a deep breath and his knees, all on their own, went right out and dropped him straight to the floor. Not a bad thing at all. The floor was nice and safe.

Shit.


	3. Thing Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And of course, the worst for next.

You live at the Mansion long enough--hell, you live _*anyplace*_ long enough--you get the ambiance down in your head, what every mood feels like. St. John, coming back from an errand with Ms Munroe (yippee, finally got off campus for a few minutes, even if it was just to help with shopping), walked in the door and knew something was wrong.

Ms Munroe sensed it too--eyes narrowing a little in confusion, then widened abruptly, she dismissed him with an absent smile and thanks and left the kitchen at what could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered a casual walk. St. John blinked, taking a breath, wondering what the hell was going on. Going out the kitchen door, he spied Jubilee, pacing in front of the stairs, turning suddenly to address someone he couldn't quite see.

She was giving off some serious angry-vibes, no question. Hmm. He was almost tempted to go the other way.

  
"We gotta find her _*now*_\--if Scooter finds it, she's gonna get her ass kicked three ways from Sunday. She's fucking lost her mind." Another turn, and her eyes lighted on him--briefly, he saw her struggle, then shake her head, turning back to pace.

"Jubes--" Kitty. Of course.

"I don't give a good fuck if she fucked over half the school! She's still Rogue and I don't wanna--" Jubilee stopped again, giving him a glance, and he realized--God, he was officially blackballed. Only one person would have Jubes that tense--and shit, he did care. Dropping his backpack, he crossed the polished wood distance between them and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around. One hand came up and he saw sparks jump from her fingers. He knocked her hand out of the way. Uh-uh, babe, no way.

"You don't wanna play like that, Lee, so don't get your panties in a twist. What the hell is going on?"

Jubilee's mouth set in a straight line, and he knew he wouldn't get a damn thing out of her. Turning, he saw Kitty--Kitty was breakable. He took two steps up, coming face to face and she took a stumbling step back, eyes wide. Interesting

"What's going on?"

"Johnny--" A desperate glance at Jubilee.

"None of your business, fireboy. Get your ass back to sulking. We don't need you."

They needed something and he was around. Fuck. Pushing Kitty back until she was trapped against the wall, St. John tried again. Jubilee would send him to hell--Kitty was softer.

"What the hell did Rogue do now?"

Another desperate glance, then Kitty bit her lip. It came out, probably against her will too.

"Drugs. Uppers, in her room. She bought 'em a few days ago we think." Snapped her mouth shut afterward, another pleading glance to Jubilee.

It could have been a surprise--it should have been--but it added up pretty well, knowing Rogue. Letting a breath hiss between his teeth, he glanced down at the furious Jubilee--who hadn't stopped Kitty from spilling either, so at least that was something. Okay. Think.

"How long?"

Jubilee blew out a breath.

"We had it under control--"

"She's buying uppers now, there is no control. How the fuck long?" No balance, no sleep, heightened aggression. Shit, when Rogue wanted to do anything, she never did it halfway. Shoulda guessed--fuck, shoulda fucking_ *known*_, not when she was like in the library the day before, not the way she'd been reacting since The Latest Incident.

Kitty shut her eyes.

"How. The. Fuck. Long?" Not even meaning to, he took another step toward Kitty, whose eyes opened in shock--he didn't even know he was capable of that kind of threat--hehehe, he _*was*_ learning from Logan, had to thank the man one day--before he felt Jubilee grab his arm, spinning him onto the floor.

She was learning too. Hmm. Have to remember that, she was damned strong.

"You haven't given a shit about any of us for a week, Johnny. Go fuck yourself."

"This is serious." Better not get up. She looked ready to do some serious damage--fuck, she was scared, no question. "How long, Jubes? Since--"

"Since the house arrest." That long? God. She bit her lip briefly, chopping the air angrily with her fingers (maybe imagining his head) before spinning away to pace. "She wasn't sleeping well--Wolvie'd been talking her through the worst dreams before we got grounded--I _*knew*_ when Mr. Summers restricted her to her room somethin' was gonna go down bad. When that stopped--fuck, Johnny, you don't have a fucking clue what she's been goin' through!"

No, he didn't. Shit. He had absolutely no clue what the hell was up anywhere and that was changing right this fucking second.

"Tell me." Simple, direct. Jubilee liked that, he knew. She tended to like the direct approach. With narrowed eyes and another angry breath, she gave him a long look.

"At first, she'd--she got Dr. McCoy to give her some sleeping pills. He monitored her on them and she said they were working okay--but it was gettin' harder to wake her up when she _*did*_ dream bad--real hard." He didn't even want to know what Jubilee had had to do to get her up. "She-she made us promise not to tell Wolvie 'bout it, you know? Didn't wanna worry him. And she--well, she gave 'em back to McCoy and said it was all under control now--but she started trying to--you know, exhaust herself before bed. She got those extra sessions with Wolvie and she'd--you know, she'd nap and she said that would help a little, that she didn't dream when she was that tired." Jubilee stopped short--God, she wasn't nearly as pissed as she was scared. It was contagious--he could feel little tremors running through him. "I--I--fuck, Johnny, the girl lives with me! We knew she wasn't gettin' enough sleep and she was drinkin' coffee like it was a religious occupation, but fuck--"

Okay. Calm. Think. Get the whole story. Don't react. Think. Think. You're good at that. You're good at blowing up things and you're usually good at thinking. Let's go with thinking. Blowing up stuff wouldn't be productive. Fun and relaxing, but not very productive.

"How'd you find out about--"

"Class, when she reacted that bad to Logan." Yeah, he'd noticed that. "He got really disturbed--asked me if she was okay--and you know, Wolvie'd never ask anyone if he wasn't that worried. And all that triangle crap between you and her and Drake was just--it was ripping her up." Jubilee turned again, this time planting herself on the lower step, giving him a glare. Fuck, he might even deserve it. "Stupid me, went to talk to Scooter--he got all kinds of freaky ideas. I thought--you know, maybe he'd just lift her restriction so she could stay with Wolvie for awhile, get her balance back? He started--the idiot started _*watching*_ her and really freaking her out--shit, she'd like, disappear for hours and we couldn't find her. He pulled her after hour gym privileges because he said she wasn't getting enough sleep and she wasn't looking too good. No shit, Sherlock. That she needed to slow down. Kept trying to get her to talk about it and you know she won't do that with anyone, even the Prof. He was gonna pull her extra work-outs with Wolvie too--and she--she--" Jubilee stopped, looking up at him. Eyes narrowed in accusation.

He only half-deserved that.

"Look, I know you and Drake and her got something freaky goin' on--she won't talk about it, says it's her fault. But this isn't--we don't handle it this way. We do it together--whatever the fuck you and Roguey and Bobby did or didn't do or wanted to do--get over it already. We aren't living some melodrama--you know what she's capable of if she's pushed and all this is pushing her too hard. I found one of those baggies in the bathroom--Dr. McCoy ran a spectrum on the remains and found out what it was. He was gonna handle it himself, but Jeanie found the results an hour ago when McCoy left to go find the dealer. He was gonna deal with Rogue, you know? She trusts him." Jubilee wiped her face angrily. "Fuck Jeanie and Scooter--they'll screw this up and she'll be gone out the door before any of us can do anything if they find that crap."

Jubilee stopped, and he saw the burn of color into her face. St. John took a deep breath, trying to breathe. Slowly, he stood up.

"They don't know who had the bag?"

"Nope. McCoy was gonna take it straight to Xavier and handle it himself. He knows Roguey likes him--he's been her doctor since the whole Remy thing. She'll listen to them."

"Do you have the bag?"

Jubilee blinked, then slowly nodded. He could see it in her eyes--she was quick.

"You think there's more?"

"She took enough money to buy three of these." He smiled a little--if anyone would know street price, it'd be Jubes "I balance her account for her--she don't know shit about money. I went over the entire damn room and couldn't find crap." A pause, then Jubilee pulled it from the recesses of her jacket. St. John took it, looking at the dust clinging to the inside. Thinking. Thinking...

"Logan could get a scent lock and find it in her room before the Fearless Leaders get in there. Where are they now?"

Jubilee's eyes widened. It never ceased to really amaze him, how they could think together like that.

"With the younger kids first--they're doing a room-by-room. First hall--it'll be at least twenty minutes before they get to our room, and we're not allowed up there--only teachers." On her feet, grabbing Kitty, energized because she had a mission. "Give me five minutes, then you two get some sort of distraction--Logan can smell it out and get it out of there before they find it--I searched the entire fucking room, but Scooter's an old hand at finding things, he and Jeanie both. If we don't get in there first, they'll get it and God knows what'll happen."

St. John blinked. He didn't even wanna _*think*_ about the shit that would go down if Rogue was caught with that crap.

"You know where Logan is?"

A blinding smile--Jubes on her turf, doing things. Strangely, Logan didn't scare her. He'd have to ask her about that sometime.

"Oh yeah, Danger Room--and we got the new codes from Wolvie to get to the sublevels. As long as the teachers are upstairs, no one'll know I know."

St. John paused and caught Kitty as Jubilee spun the girl at him.

"You think Logan'll--"

"He knows what'll happen if Scooter finds it before he does. I trust McCoy and Wolvie more than the others with something like this--they'll take care of it. Get going--and--" Jubilee stopped, taking a breath. "Look, you two--you have to be _*caught*_ fucking up, you got it? A fire alarm ain't gonna do it this time--they _*have* _to think y'all are screwing around and it has nothin' to do with the whole search, or it'll all be for nothing. And keep Summers occupied, got it? Don't screw up small. Make it big and public."

"I know." He did know. Kitty nodded quickly and Jubilee took off down the floor, sliding against the far wall, before going into a dead sprint down toward the elevator.

And wow, did he just have a fabulous idea.

* * *

"What the _*hell*_ are you doing?"

St. John blinked up at the sky while Kitty almost dropped the second one as she leaped to her feet--fuck, careful babe. Cute little bombs like that could still go off at bad times. Squinting, he turned to see Mr. Summers standing only a few feet away. In the distance, he could see the spill of the other teachers across the back porch--quick count, that was most of them. Jubes and Logan could handle the few left inside.

Hmm. That was quick though. Must've been near a window. Cool beans.

"Hi sir." Carefully, he turned on his control and smiled up, sunny. Oh, Mr. Summers was pissed. Two steps from pissed. "We were just experimenting, you know. With a new design. Got it off the net--"

"You _*know*_ better than to set your little bombs off out here, Johnny! We have a lab for that."

Well, yeah, where'd he think Kitty'd got the materials, anyway? He had an answer ready. It might even seem plausible.

"Too high explosion, sir. I wanted to test it--"

"St. John--I don't believe this." Though he did--St. John's fascination with explosives was quite well-documented. He was going through the motions right now--more pissed that he'd been interrupted than seeing St. John with his favorite toys. "You are given the privilege of using these only under the supervision of a teacher--not where you can start a fire that could burn down half the damn school!" A wave of the hand at the device in Kitty's hand. Which wouldn't burn down half the school--if it was set off at the right place, it'd maybe take out a room. Or two. Okay, maybe three, but shit, there were fire extinguishers everywhere. It'd be fine.

Mr. Summers using profanity was always interesting to hear. St. John stood up, grabbing the second bomb from Kitty--he really hadn't expected him to show up so damn fast. The second one had a better payload and he'd.

"Sir, I'm careful--"

"With an explosion so big you didn't think the lab would handle it?"

Mmm...good point. Very good point. Had to give him that.

"Both of you, in my office. I'll deal with you later." A hand extended peremptorily, and St. John meekly handed over the second bomb--damn, he wished he could have set that one off. "I can't believe you're acting this irresponsibly--"

Whoa. Bad idea. Might get to wondering why Johnny broke out with the dynamite-type items so suddenly.

"Sir, I just got bored--"

"And you _*know*_ very well you're not allowed out of the Mansion for another two weeks. This is--"

It started then, the lecture he'd been waiting for. St. John almost welcomed it, forced down his grin, tried to look that unique adolescent combination of angry and unrepentant and worried--not as easy as it sounded, but he'd been a teenager for awhile, so he could manage it. It was all good--Logan'd have plenty of time to find the stash and all would be damn good.

Well, except for the punishment. Probably grounded for another month. Oh well. It's wasn't like he had any plans anyway.


	4. Thing Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the doozie, which is sort of cool.

He knew where she'd be.

So she wasn't predictable in the classic sense--she was also Rogue, and reactionary as hell. Two hours after his little display (now in his room after that little Scooter-talk), he saw her driving back to the Mansion on Jubes' bike--when Rogue broke rules, she did it with style, not even a helmet. Slowed down as she approached, and he watched her bring the bike to a halt only a few feet from the main door.

Logan and Dr. McCoy stepped into view and St. John wondered if they'd maybe miscalculated, letting her see them while she was still on the bike. But she got off, kicking the stand down, and he could see her head go down briefly--she was a smart girl. She knew what had happened.

"Logan--"

"Not a word." Oddly toneless, and she blinked, obviously surprised, definitely expecting something else entirely. A step toward him, and her back straightened, the breeze picking up her hair. Rogue to the tip of her nails. Had to admire her courage, if not her good sense.

"I don't--"

"Shut up. We're going down to the lab. McCoy here's gonna run a few tests and you're gonna answer every damn one of his questions, you got it?"

"Logan--" Still trying.

"You argue, we'll go to option two--I tell Cyke and Jeanie and they get to have this little discussion with you." Fuck, that was a threat and St. John knew it. Rogue stepped back--not good.

"They don't know?"

"Not yet and they're not gonna. Me, McCoy, and the Prof. That's it. You listen to me, that's all that will know."

For a second, St. John thought she was going to argue, fight him, maybe just jump on the bike and run--and maybe it was a toss up, he didn't know. Shoulders stiff, she stared at them for a long time, then nodded shortly.

Considering his usual luck in the voyeur department (though damn, he got to find out the coolest stuff), St. John ducked back in his room and went to his bed, sitting down and picking up his magazine. Okay, so he'd managed to stumble across at least one conversation where he wasn't caught. Hmmm. The sound of the door lifted his head and Bobby walked in, frowning a little.

"Hey." Tentative truce--that worked. St. John watched the other boy slowly close the door, turning slightly to give him a long look.

"Hey." Very tentative. "You busy?"

St. John shrugged.

"Sorta grounded. For awhile." Though the bombs had been worth it. He'd have to talk to Jubes--if anyone knew the most fun things about pyrotechnics, she did, being one and all.

"Yeah, so I heard. Glad your iota class worked. I know you've been working on it for awhile."

St. John shrugged a little, trying to think of something to say--and this was surreal, he and Bobby just _*didn't*_ have problems with conversations. A few minutes of Bobby standing awkwardly by the door, and the other boy suddenly crossed the room, finding both their jackets.

"Get your boots."

"Huh?" Huh?

Bobby ducked his head under St. John's bed while St. John blinked, sitting up abruptly, wondering what the hell Bobby was up to.

"Boots. Things that go over socks and on feet. You've seen them. These," a slap on his ankle, "are your feet area. Place the boots over, lace up, then stand up. Now, boyo."

St. John struggled straight, taking the extended right boot while Bobby went diving for the left. Hmm. Pull on boot, lace up, Bobby was in a rush and got his left foot and shoved the second boot on. Barely waiting for St. John to lace it up, he grabbed him by the arm, throwing his jacket over his shoulder, and pulled the door open.

Weird, yes.

"Whoa, Drake, I'm restricted--"

"And since when have you given a fuck? Get moving. I don't have time to babysit your moodswings. One foot in front of the other, like so."

He was pushed out the door and it closed behind him with a snap. A little bemused (and wondering when Bobby started playing alpha male with such devastating accuracy) he allowed himself to be hauled to the stairs. And promptly ran into Mr. Summers.

Of course.

"John."

St. John flinched.

"Sir--"

"What--"

"Logan wants him, sir." Bobby pulled his jacket on quickly, then the grip on St. John's arm was back and increased dramatically. A 'keep your mouth shut' sort of deal. Cool beans. "Something about a screw-up in class."

It was one of those things that St. John was always quite curious about--as far as Mr. Summers was concerned, Bobby could do no wrong. So if Bobby said Logan wanted St. John, of course Logan wanted St. John, whether or not Mr. Summers knew of any actual request. With a glare at St. John (he tried to look suitably abashed), Mr. Summers gave Bobby a smile and ambled off. At which point, Bobby took the stairs going down three at a time and St. John was hard-pressed to keep up--fuck, it wasn't fair Bobby's legs were longer.

"Did you just lie to Mr. Summers?" Because they weren't going toward Logan's office--and he knew for a fact that Logan was not there, Logan was doing some rough therapy on Rogue downstairs.

"Hmm?" An absent glance. "Yeah. You're usually quicker than that. Yeah. Goodie. Get movin'--"

"Why the fuck are you in such a rush?"

Bobby gave him a cold blue gaze.

"I'm not givin' you the chance to find another reason to avoid me. Come on--got an idea, got a plan, and got a destination. You're mine for the next two hours. Get movin'."

There were several things about that statement that could have given St. John some considerable thought, but Bobby was pulling him toward the garage.

"Get a helmet. I got your keys, I'm driving. You have trauma with that or you gonna just be quiet?"

"No trauma, dude." St. John slowly took one of the helmets. Put it on. Regarded Bobby carefully. "Drake--"

"I'm sure I said to keep quiet. You don't get to talk. You had time to talk. You had _*alot*_ of time to talk. Scads of time. Six fucking days of time. You get to be quiet and get on the bike. Nowish."

St. John considered Bobby, considered the bike--so Bobby had gone off the deep end. Fair enough, he probably deserved to bear the brunt of it. Getting on, he waited patiently as Bobby roughly thrust his helmet down on his head, keys in hand, getting on in front of him, and barely giving him time to grab hold of his waist before the bike was on, kickstand was up, and they were off.

Fuck if he could even figure out where they were going, though.

* * * * *

Of course, it'd be the lake.

Bobby was off first, kicking the stand down with a booted foot (and he really hadn't remembered that Bobby's driving skills were rather on the side of terrifying, though the ride reminded him why he liked to drive whenever they went anywhere), turning with an impressive snap to wait for St. John to disembark as well. Which he wanted to do--when his knees stopped shaking from the hairpin turns that Bobby was so addicted to.

No question, Bobby wasn't gonna be driving them anywhere again until he took some classes in driver safety. Ninety degree turns should only be attempted by mutants with healing factors, not boys who under stress might accidentally ice the road. Carefully, he pulled himself off, discarding his helmet beside Bobby's, looking at the younger boy.

"Um--Bobby--"

"Just shut up." Ooh. Interesting. "Okay, so we talk in the library the other day and I try to find out exactly what your deal is, 'kay? What do I get--you acting like a three year old with an inflated sense of injury, and you know, buddy, that's just annoying. For five days before that, you do your level best to assure I _*never*_ see you, and that, my friend, takes some serious effort, considering we share a fucking room, 'kay? So I get to thinking--and so doing my own sort of Sherlock impressions, I try to figure out what the hell is up with you, because, frankly, you've been acting pretty fucking weird for awhile now and I'd _*so*_ like an explanation. So now you get to talk. Spill the trauma. What the hell is making you so fucking out of it?"

There were a lot of ways to answer that, and saying nothing would probably not be an option. This was A Talk situation. Talk to Bobby about the trauma. Got it.

"Look, its--I've been out of--"

"It's about Rogue and me, isn't it?"

For some reason, putting "Rogue" and "Bobby" in a sentence together, even in the first person, was just painful. Because obviously, Rogue wasn't any more into Bobby than she had been before whatever happened that night, and Bobby--well, something had to have happened.

"Sort of."

"We talked that night." A pause. "Sat outside, talked about general annoying stuff--she couldn't sleep, I wasn't on restriction, we sat outside and talked. Nothing happened--and you know, I never pegged you as the jealous type, ya know?"

"Jealous?"

"Jealous times five." Bobby looked a little amused now--St. John had to suppose the stress of having to act out like this was probably wearing away now that he knew the problem. Fuck. St. John turned, sitting down against a tree, frustrated with himself--because, shit, he was jealous, and he was jealous because Rogue had taken Bobby outside not to fuck him, but to talk to him. _*Talk.*_

How very--anticlimactic.

"Nothing else happened?"

"She wasn't interested."

She sure looked interested when she left, but St. John bit his tongue as Bobby, ever neat, spread his denim jacket on the grass and carefully sat down on it. Keep those creased jeans perfect.

"She wasn't interested?"

"I was interested, she wanted to chat. With Rogue, this is normal. I'm used to it." A pause, and he saw Bobby was leaning back comfortably on one arm, looking thoughtful, before those icy blue eyes met his. "Of course, now you can explain why you were jealous--after all, she was in our room before I got there, and many things I am, I'm not stupid. And you being St. John, you've never turned down sex in your life. So spill. You wanted her and she left with me and now we're on opposite ends because you didn't get a chance to fuck her?"

It was only now St. John realized perhaps his biggest mistake. Bobby wasn't angry or amused, or even off-center--Bobby was pissed beyond words, and dealing with it in a very Bobby-way. Total relaxation and completely open dialogue on the subject of the anger. Dear God.

"We didn't have sex."

"You wouldn't have looked quite so--frustrated--if you had." Bobby idly kicked his heel into the dirt. "Spit it out--you got mad because you thought Rogue had sex with me and not with you."

"Rogue and I--we're not like that."

Bobby tilted his head.

"She had a hickey, Johnny. Apparently, you are like that, and I didn't even know you were into bruising--you sure as hell never did that to me." Wow. He hadn't known he bruised her. "She was wearing that little silk bodysuit that has only one purpose--shit, we all know why she buys those. Carrying around a scarf, looking guilty as hell--well, Rogue's version of guilty anyway--and trying to tell me in very nice words why I should be looking closer to home for my romantic interests. Which is all well and good and I'm now doing some serious rebounding on the whole Rogue issue." A pause. "Thing is, never occurred to me, that you might want her too."

"I don't." Well, not quite true, and Bobby's raised eyebrow made him rethink the subject. "It's not--I like her. She's a friend. Like Kitty and Jubes, you know?"

"Who you've also been ignoring, but that's another issue for another day. I don't remember you nailing Kit or Jubes, so we'll just put that aside." Bobby's head tilted a little. "Have you slept with them?"

That'd be a technical no. "Rogue and I didn't have sex." Let's keep with the subject. "We're friends, that's it, Bobby." Well, okay, not right now, but knowing Rogue, she'd do absolutely nothing to repair the issues between them, and that left it up to him.

"Okay, so that's cleared up." A sharply blow breath. "So what are you pissed about then? If you don't want her, why were you angry that I went off with her?"

A pause--Bobby was clueless, true, but also remarkably determined once his nose was actually in the problem.

"I just--I just thought you needed to get over it already." I want you myself. Fuck, why the hell is that so hard to say? I. Want. You. Period.

"Oh." Bobby frowned a little, and St. John watched the pale fingers pick lightly at the meager grass for a few minutes. "Look--the thing with Rogue--you know how I feel about her."

In hideously nightmarish detail.

"And I'm not saying that I don't--don't still want her."

Fuck.

"But--look, I'm not going to be going stalker on her anymore, okay? So chill. That whole thing is through." Abruptly, Bobby leaned forward. "So that's over. Don't worry about it. I'm not gonna go off the deep end because she's planning the most appropriate method of jumping Logan. Okay?"

Bobby was astute, oh yes. He'd picked up exactly half of St. John's problem. Because they were friends, and occasionally friends who messed around (and that was it, he was talking to Kitty and Jubes about their possible relationship, because Bobby had to be getting his example from somewhere). With a sigh, St. John nodded.

"Cool." And just like that, Bobby was freed of all stress, grinning brightly. "Come on--we still got some time. Let's go get something to eat--I don't feel like eating at school today." Moving in one of those easy, graceful movements that just never ceased to fascinate St. John completely.

"Bobby, I can't--"

"You set off bombs on school property and you're getting issues about eating in town?" A wonderful smile, lighting up his whole face, taking St. John's breath away. "Don't worry--Jubes's covering for us. It's all good. Get your ass up."

"I'm driving."

"You better believe it." Bobby threw him the keys. And St. John couldn't help but smile in return as he grabbed his helmet.

Okay, so the whole 'I want you Bobby' hadn't happened yet. There was the 'I'm getting over Rogue' thing from Bobby, which was an immense step in the right direction. Very big step. Monumental step.

Sitting on the bike with Bobby's arms around his waist--well, this was definitely Progress.

* * *


	5. Thing Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thing five, which really makes everyone happy, I think.

Bobby was snoring. And it was keeping St. John awake.

Now, under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be that much of an issue. St. John was used to that. Bobby snored, he dealt with it. Even slept through it. Bobby was one of those rare individuals that, once they went to sleep, it took some serious circumstances to wake them up. Colossus had done it once, but that wasn't the preferred method of getting Bobby Drake awake. St. John was fond of the fact his clothes were both warm and dry.

But in this instance, for some reason, the snoring was giving St. John some serious problems. Toss one way, nothing, toss another, nothing, stare at the ceiling, note how very nice the plaster is and aren't you impressed you get to see it?

Far less fascinating than one might expect. If that was even possible.

"Bobby."

Nothing. Whispering had never worked before, what the hell gave him the idea it would work this time?

Bed was warm. Warm, comforting, covered in blankets--well, he could warm any given area anyway, but that was beside the point. He liked being prone. He liked the fact he wasn't moving. He liked the fact that it was at least--check the clock--six hours before he was required to be anywhere near awake, and he looked up at the ceiling. Let his eyes close. Imagined sheep jumping over fences. Okay, so yet another thing that never really worked, especially when--

There was more snoring.

"Fuck, Bobby, you swallow a lawnmower or somethin'?" Bobby snored on, oblivious to his roommate's dissatisfaction. Damn him. Yes, he was cute when he slept--but damn him anyway.

He could lay here, prone, yes, awake however--or get up and wake the boy. Choices, choices.

On second thought, Bobby responded well to nighttime wakings. Which he hadn't tried in awhile. For a reason, and St. John knew there'd _*been*_ a reason, something about not being a substitute or not being first, but you know, at midnight after bedchecks, it just didn't seem like a _*pressing*_ reason. A reason worth keeping up, at any rate, and that's what sent St. John's feet to the floor--

\--no, he was getting up to wake up Bobby so the boy would _*please*_ stop snoring, thank you. That was it. Period.

Sliding out, he winced at the feel of the floor, realizing abruptly that the floor wasn't _*that*_ cold and his temperature had jumped, and shit, this couldn't be good. No, wake up Bobby, that's it. No groping unsuspecting roommate, no matter how good he looked laying there--with that chest exposed by the blanket rucked around his hips--

Oddly, however, the snoring had stopped and St. John was halfway across the room before he realized that--and so was completely startled when he looked up from his feet, to see Bobby up on one elbow, looking at him with that peculiar mixture of patience and amusement.

"Snoring wake you up, Johnny?"

Um. Yeah. Definitely.

"Just gonna wake you up. You sound like a dying bear, you know." That was so all. Wake the boy up, crawl back to bed, think about arctic temperatures--oh, no, that reminded him of Bobby, what the fuck do you do when your fantasy life actually _*includes*_ cold showers?

"Hmm. Did you consider that pizza thing tonight a date?"

  
Whoa fuck, where the hell had _*that*_ come from? St. John blinked, staring at the younger boy, because really, how the hell did you answer that? Yes? Sure thing? No, because I was thinking of someplace nicer? God.

"Umm--did you?" Brilliant, Johnny. Just fucking brilliant.

"No." St. John breathed, not sure how he felt about that. "It wasn't what I had in mind, you know? For a first date."

"A first date?" And still yet, words eluded him. Normal thought eluded him. "I'm assuming you mean--um, you and me, right?"

Things like this happened in his fantasy life. Usually included whipped cream and some experiments with massage oil. His feet were never cold, he hadn't been studying the plaster five minutes earlier, and shit, he knew he probably would have remembered to bring condiments of some kind.

So yeah, this was real. No magical whipped cream appeared out of nowhere.

"Something like that." A jerk of the covers, and St. John actually found himself taking a step backward, just from shock. Bobby grinned. "Come on--you can keep me from snoring. I don't bite."

"I might."

They'd just so thoroughly left ambiguous territory and into sexual innuendo that St. John just let his feet react and take him where obviously, he should be going. This was a dream, of course. No question. He fell asleep thinking of that picture of Bobby in his drawer and was having one hell of a damned good nighttime fantasy--because Bobby-boy just wasn't the aggressive type.

Fantasy meant that he was perfectly okay in sliding into bed and finding the cool skin of Bobby's face with the tips of his fingers, tracing the fine line of his jaw, over his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Shifting himself on an elbow as Bobby slid down on his back, a hand coming up to run down the back of his neck--that was good. Even better when Bobby turned his head, brushing his tongue across the fingers near his mouth, then glancing up a little warily. Always slightly unsure, even when he was inviting St. John into his bed, that was Bobby to the fingernails and St. John slowly leaned down, kissing the cool lips, opening instantly and with gratifying enthusiasm, and he'd never had a dream this good, this real.

"Bobby--"

"Tomorrow." At first, he couldn't figure out what the other boy was talking about. "To little Italy, that cafe on Magnolia you like so much." A breath before another kiss, a little harder, even more enthusiastic.

"That cafe--" Oh God, Bobby's hand was resting just above his ass and steadily working its way down. "What--"

"For dinner."

He was grounded and he didn't give a shit. Cafes were good.

"Cool with me, Drake--" Sliding down a little to find the line of his throat. Let out a breath when Bobby slid a hand up his back and fingernails scraped across his shoulders. "Shit, that's good, Bobby."

"Hmm. Nice to know." A breath, then he found that perfect spot on Bobby's shoulder, felt him shudder and bit lightly. Addictive, to feel that under him, shifting his weight over until he was straddling the younger boy. Bracing himself on his hands, he stared down at him, taking in the light flush, the rapidly cooling skin against him. "Johnny? You okay with this?"

"Beyond words." Seriously beyond words. He wasn't sure there were words left in his vocabulary. "Really okay. Are you?" Though he could be cynical on occasion, he just didn't see Bobby tossing back the covers just any old time.

"You have no idea." A leg hooked around his knee and Bobby was on his back, more than a little startled, hearing Bobby's low laugh and the long fingers tracing the line of his chest. "You're getting warmer.

Considering Bobby was currently rubbing against a very important part of his anatomy, that just wasn't a surprise. Not at all. Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands along the strong shoulders and to his surprise, his hands were pinned down by his head.

And yes, it was official, Bobby not only outweighed him, Bobby was fucking _*strong*_.

"Uh, Bobby--"

"Shh." A lowered head and he shut his eyes at the feel of that cool mouth running over his chest, slowly mapping the skin just below his throat. Pausing at each nipple, and with every move of his body, he was rubbing against Bobby, and shit, that was good. That was soo good. It was better than good and Bobby was dropping a little lower each time, the brush of teeth against the skin of his stomach and so abruptly he didn't even know it was happening until he heard the clothing drop on the floor, he was naked.

God, yes. Nothing wrong with naked at all. Good things happened when naked.

"Bobby--" he wasn't sure what he would say, if he was asking, begging, or some sort of weird combination of the two--hell, he may just like the way it sounded on his tongue. It rolled off. Bobby. It rolled off the tongue. Bobby. Bobby--

"Oh *_fuck*_, Bobby!" he breathed in shock, feeling the cool lips close over the head of his cock. He felt his back arch sharply off the bed, Bobby's fingers laced through his, trapping them against the mattress. An extremely talented tongue traced the tip, then he felt Bobby take a breath and how the hell--how the _*hell*_\--did he get it that far down his throat all at once?

He wasn't going to last any time at all--his skin temperature was already erratic and no amount of control was ever meant to last through Bobby Drake doing _*that*_. No human could be expected to keep any kind of control when that was happening, when Bobby slowly slid up the length, sucking lightly, glancing up with a wicked little grin, before back down, all the way down--

"Oh yes. Hell yes. Bobby--"

Another, faster stroke, and every muscle in his body clenched as Bobby found a rhythm he liked and went to town--oh yes, that was good. Fingers growing steadily cooler in his--or was he getting warmer?--staring up at the ceiling--a damned interesting ceiling, little stars everywhere, and a shudder ran through him when Bobby stepped it up and _*how*_ did he know to do that?

"Bobby--" And there was nothing he could do--thrust up against that cool mouth, such an amazing contrast to the heat of his body, and everything in him went hot and bright. Knew he must have said something, but had no idea what--God, Bobby, babe--

Coming down was slow and slowly cooling and he was vaguely aware Bobby had shifted back up, laying down beside him.

"Bobby--"

"You can buy me dinner. Go to sleep. I'm freezing." A twist of the blankets around them, Bobby's head against his chest, his eyes slowly closing after what was perhaps one of the best orgasms of his life--

"I'll buy you dinner?" Dinner for oral sex. Hmm.

"Fair trade, dude." A pause, then the absent movement of fingers against his chest. "Night."

"Cool." Sliding an arm around Bobby, shutting his eyes on the ceiling, wondering about Bobby's preferences on Italian food. Because, really, tomato sauce was at its best licked directly off the skin.


End file.
